Stranded
by Sarah Ireland
Summary: A jaded Captain Turner, trying to live his life without Elizabeth, spends most of the time sailing away. A new sailor aboard his ship spends most of the time hiding away. Eventually, what you run from you come back to, and what you hide from finds you.
1. Enter our heroes

*Disclaimer* None of the characters you see here that are not mine are mine, except for the ones that are mine. The situations, happenstance, and occurrences are mine, except for the ones that are not mine.  
  
Note: A hefty thank you to Erinya! You rock, girl! May your harem be filled with Johnny Depp clones.  
  
And now, without further ado....  
  
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Will Turner stared into the sea spray unblinkingly. The briny droplets splashed into his eyes. He didn't feel the pain. Nor did he feel the blazing sun beating down on his bare head, nor the powerful and gentle rocking motions of the ship. Whether it was pleasure or pain, he didn't feel much any more. The last three years had seen to that. In a way, he was grateful. Those wide eyes of his had been opened even further. Once the numbness came over him, it was easier to go about everyday life. More often than not, the people he made trade with knew if you were dull, inexperienced, or just plain innocent. People responded to him differently now, since he had stopped caring.  
  
Since Elizabeth left him.  
  
In truth, he should have known it would be this way from the very first. In the moments before their first kiss when she had insisted to her father that he was a pirate, not a blacksmith, he should have known. It was true, pirate's blood ran through his veins. His thirst for adventure was undeniable. But his upbringing was too strong to be overcome by an obsession with water and treasure. It had seemed perfectly natural to test for his captain's papers, secure a commission with a local shipping company, and begin building a house.  
  
Nor could Elizabeth entirely be blamed. They had looked at each other with longing since they were children. With the taste of adventure still fresh in her mouth, it seemed sensible to marry the dashing man that set out to claim her affections. She had tried so to hide her disappointment with the practical plans being laid down by her new husband. After all, he really was doing what was best. But she had grown more distant as the months went on. Will could tell she was dying inside.   
  
He remembered the night they discussed it--the last real discussion they had. A fierce tropical storm had kept them inside the house all day. By the time the rain stopped, the night had already fallen. Will had gone to find Elizabeth, to see if she wanted to take a walk on the nearby beach.   
  
He found her on the balcony of their new bedroom looking out onto the sea, gulping in the salt air and weeping softly into the waves below. She was pale, drawn, and tense.   
  
"Elizabeth, stop trying to hide it from me," he said softly, without puzzling out a reason as to why. With those instinctive words, the realization crashed over him like a tidal wave. He had been a blind fool to think that the ideal life he had built was anything more than a pretty cage for her. She hung her head with the look of a wild horse that had been pinned in a stable.   
  
"You are my life, Will. I love you."  
  
"But you never wanted to be a merchant's wife, did you? You want to live with a scream, not a sigh." Will's voice was gentle, his words slow and carefully chosen. She was quiet. Though he could ask what would relieve her suffocated heart, he knew it would be pointless. She wouldn't ask him to leave the life he had so tenderly built, knowing that eventually, being an outlaw would be nothing but a source of misery to him. He couldn't ask her to stay marooned in this prison like a house cat. They were at an impasse.  
  
Two weeks later, he awoke to find her gone. There was a simple note pinned to her pillow, saying only that she loved him. Her father didn't deny knowing where she had fled, and no search was made. Will waited a year before shutting down their new house and advertising for new owners. He had not left his ship since then.  
  
Maybe it was the blood of Bootstraps, his father, that made the sea his refuge. When he looked over the waves, his mind ran wild and his heart beat faster. For a few minutes, what happened didn't matter, and he wasn't lonely. The deep, dangerous green of the spray lit his blood on fire and made him feel as he had so long ago--like an adventurer. His crew quickly learned not to disturb him when he was looking over the railing. He may have looked peaceful, but in his mind he was reliving battles with the sword, the cannon, and the fist. He was swinging from the rigging with the cool wind on his face, on his way to rescue his lady love. He was fighting by her side, each movement smooth as though choreographed, responding to her movements as though they were one mind in two bodies.  
  
But the moment always ended, and a numb reality returned. The world may as well have existed in black and white. They were pulling into Portsmouth now, and he needed to get to the quarterdeck and issue shore leave. Tonight he would spend some time on solid ground, eat some fresh food, and sleep on a bed that stayed in one spot on the floor.  
  
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Julie laughed hysterically as her attacker's head collided with the bricks under her feet. The rank-smelling man quivered, emitted a loud and drunken belch, and went still. His downfall had been foolishly easy, but that was not the reason for Julie's laughter. It was the fact that his pants had come down in the middle of the fight (So eager was he to his self-appointed task that he had removed his belt and dropped it on the ground), and rather than kicking them away as a sober man would, he seemed to think the best course of action was to take off his shirt as well. He thought he may as well complete the nudity, she supposed.  
  
Still trying to quell the wave of chuckles, Julie turned on her heel and walked back toward a busier part of the street.  
  
Her skirts were too heavy, soaked in the sandy rain puddles that were scattered all over the streets. The water had crept up the cotton of her petticoats until the skin on her thighs was numb. Strands of her hair had come down from the bun she had tried so carefully to pin her hair in. The humidity had curled them into frayed, twisting corkscrews that interfered when she tried to see and tickled her nose when she breathed in. She was hungry, and the coins that jangled in her pocket reminded her of the inn where she was staying and the loaves of bread they baked. Her step quickened as her mouth began to water, and before long the warm glow of the Cavorting Mule Inn beckoned her inside.  
  
The innkeeper, Mr. York, took one look at her sodden clothes and ordered a fresh loaf put in. At Julie's request, he handed her a steaming-hot grog--a watered down ale with honey. Tea for real men, as the proprietor called it.  
  
"Ye mought wanna 'ave a sit by the fire, luv." He said in his gravelly, cockney way. "Gentleman's already ower there, but I knaw 'im. 'E won't mind." She glanced in the direction indicated by the thick, calloused finger. Seated comfortably with legs propped up by the roaring fire was a dark-haired man. He was well-dressed and clean looking, which made him stand out in the room full of working men and drunken miscreants. Julie hesitated for a moment, but finally nodded and thanked the innkeeper. He didn't look so bad...and she was so very cold.   
  
With hot grog in hand, she lifted her damp skirts slightly and made her way toward the fire to "'ave a sit." The man at the table didn't look up as she approached. He stared into the snapping, waving flames of the fire as though in a trance. It wasn't until she cleared her throat softly that he started and turned. When his eyes focused on her, his feet immediately dropped to the ground and he stood.  
  
"I beg your pardon, miss. I must have been daydreaming. What can I do for you?" His polite behavior and quick apology made Julie suddenly realize how bedraggled she must look. She probably should have gone up to her room to dry off, but in truth the hot meal downstairs held a more immediate appeal to her, not to mention that the fireplace was roughly three times bigger than the little stove in her room. She smiled sheepishly.  
  
"Please sit, sir. I only came to see if you were willing to share your place by the fire." His already-wide eyes softened as they scanned over her wet hair, blue lips, and damp clothing.  
  
"Of course. Please, come sit." He picked up one of the rickety old tavern chairs and moved it even closer to the glowing brick mantle. Julie thanked him again, then sank gratefully into the chair. Her sore flesh complained loudly at the sudden bending, then settled down as she relaxed. A tingling in her fingers reminded her of the hot grog in her hand. She lifted the mug and buried her face in the steam, taking tiny sips of the scalding liquid. Her nose and lips began to regain feeling, and she closed her eyes in bliss as the alcohol and steam revived her nerves.  
  
A soft chuckle made her eyes snap back open. The man sitting across the table was watching her, his expression now deeply amused. Slowly, she lowered the tankard back onto the table, thinking that perhaps she had spilled some of the liquid on herself in her eagerness. The man glanced at the fire as a boy added more logs, then looked back at her.  
  
"Forgive me. You just seemed to be enjoying yourself so thoroughly." Julie nodded slowly, rubbing her stiff neck.  
  
"I was very cold."  
  
"Did you get caught in the rain?"  
  
Not exactly, Julie thought. Shaking off one attack only to be met by another and running through back alleys in the rain to avoid being tracked couldn't really be called a sudden misfortune. She doubted that was the answer he wanted, however.  
  
"Yes,"   
  
She had always prided herself on witty conversation. Luckily, at that moment the inn's proprietor appeared at her elbow with two platters of cheese, butter, and bread.  
  
"'Ere ye are, roit steamin' from t' oven. Ye'll be lettin' me know if there's anythin' else?" The dark-haired man smiled.  
  
"Thank you, Mr. York. This is perfect."  
  
"Thank you so much, sir." Julie replied, an eager grin spreading across her face. She grasped the knife and, with quick, deft motions, began cutting into the bread. It was still steaming from the oven. She would have to remember to leave a few extra coins for the excellent Mr. York. Julie cut a very thick slice of bread off the loaf and laid a slice of cheese on top of it. There were no forks or knives, but the setting was less than formal, and so hands and fingers sufficed for eating utensils. Julie chewed with rapt enjoyment. The coarse brown bread was intensely satisfying, and again she closed her eyes to gain full effect. This time the man kept his eyes to himself, but she could have sworn she heard another deep-throated chuckle.   
  
As the meal went on and the knifepoint of her hunger was blunted some, Julie began to wonder about the man's dress. He was wearing good clothes, but they looked sweaty and even a little bit dirty. He had a jacket draped over the back of his chair, but the chair was turned toward the wall and she could not see it.  
  
"I am a merchant ship's captain." Startled, Julie dropped her bread.  
  
"Come again?"  
  
"Is that not what you were wondering? I'm William Turner, captain of the ship 'Portal.' My ship is docked here for two days."  
  
"I see." Julie bit into the bread and chewed pensively. Perhaps this was what she had been waiting and praying for. She swallowed her mouthful quickly, then opened her mouth to speak. Her attempt at speech was too hasty, however, and she began to choke. What little grace or dignity she had purported to have was shot as she hacked and spluttered, trying to swallow the thick bread crust caught in her throat. The man pressed her drink into her hand, and after several deep swallows she regained her composure.  
  
"Are you all right?" Captain Turner was trying to hide laughter and to show concern for her predicament. Julie nodded, wiping tears from her eyes, and cleared her throat gently. He picked up his slice of bread again. "Now, what was so important that you attempted to speak with your lungs full?"  
  
"I...I was going to ask, sir, if you were hiring sailors." He looked her up and down, then raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Well, I could likely be persuaded to, but if you'll forgive me..."  
  
"The job is not for me." She hastened. "It's for my younger brother." The well-practiced speech rolled off her tongue. "He was a cabin boy, and now he's looking for experience as a sailor. He's a hard worker, and accustomed to life at sea, but none of the ships here have given him the time of day." Captain Turner rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Julie did her best not to look too eager, but she could feel her eyes growing bigger. Father God, she prayed, don't let him be too sensible. At length, he spoke.  
  
"How old is he?"  
  
"Sixteen, sir."  
  
"And you say he works hard?"  
  
"Yes, sir, and he's smart, ready to learn."  
  
"Very well, have him meet me at the docks tomorrow. I should conclude my business for the day around three o'clock." Julie's mouth split in what she deeply hoped was an appealing grin.  
  
"Thank you, Captain. I shall relay the message." Thus relieved, Julie returned to chewing her bread...but more carefully this time. 


	2. Business on the Docks

*Disclaimer* Not mine, don't sue. You won't get any money, 'cause I ain't got none!  
  
A/N: I know it's short, but I can't help it! Don't immasculate my creative integrity.  
  
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Will tossed a small rock into the slimy green water of the docks. It made a disgusting slurping sound as it went under the moss and film made by who-knew-what. The groaning of ships as they swayed with the motion of the water made a strangely melodious song, and he hummed along with it agreeably. His bid for repair supplies for the ship's carpenters had gone well. The lumberyard should return with a wagonload of the best wood within a few hours. A few spools of heavy twine had been purchased, and their barrels of pitch had been restocked. The repairs could be done easily enough while the ship was underway, if necessary. Most of his sailors were out on shore leave, and he was thoroughly impressed with their conduct. Aside from a few barroom brawls, there had been no run-ins with the local authorities. He was considering doubling the rum ration for a day as a reward.  
  
He wasn't exactly sure why he had offered to meet with this boy. Perhaps it was the way his sister had leaned forward wide-eyed when he mentioned he was a ship's captain. She had looked so bedraggled that Will thought maybe she had been depending on her brother's wages. It would make sense, come to think of it, if she had been out looking for work that day. In any case, he really did need another sailor, even an inexperienced one.  
  
"Excuse me, sir...do you happen to know a Captain Turner, of the 'Portal'?" A voice interrupted his thoughts. Will looked up to see a dark-headed young boy, dressed in shabby work clothes.   
  
"I happen to be a Captain Turner of the 'Portal.' What can I do for you?"  
  
"John Bloodworth, Captain. I think you spoke with my sister last night." Will had already guessed as much. He truly was the spitting image of his older sister. Same muddy-brown hair, same direct gaze, same restrained, almost cultured way of speaking. Will nodded, and the boy bowed.  
  
"Of course, John. Your sister tells me that you want to train as a sailor."  
  
"Yes sir, I do." The boy was soft-voiced and slightly built. It was hard for Will to imagine he would be much use for the heavy work. Still, he might be useful for scrambling about in the rigging or mending sails.  
  
"Can you read or write?"  
  
"Yes, Captain. And cipher." He could take care of inventory, once he earned trust. Perhaps the ship's carpenters could even enlist his help in the repairs. It would be good experience for him, and more hands meant faster work.  
  
"Can you be ready to depart tomorrow morning?" Will stared nonchalantly at the horizon. There was no sign of ill weather incoming, and if the sun and wind held, tomorrow would be an ideal day to set sail.  
  
"Oh, yes captain!" His face split in a grin, a more enthusiastic version of his sister's soft smile. "What time would you like me here?"  
  
"Be on the docks by sunup. Are you staying with your sister at the Cavorting Mule?"  
  
"Yes sir! Will you be there again tonight?"  
  
"I will."  
  
"Right, then. See you tomorrow, Captain Turner!"  
  
"Don't be late, John Bloodworth."  
  
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Julie watched Captain Turner turn and walk away across the moss-stained docks. "Portal" was not so very big, as ships go, but it dwarfed him as he walked closer and finally boarded. He had taken the bait. Julie heaved a deep sigh of relief and turned on her booted heel. For some reason, he had seemed like one of the smarter ones, the ones that looked at her incredulously from the moment she said "hello." Then again, he always had that distracted look, as though he were listening for something just out of his range of hearing. Perhaps he just didn't have his mind on his work. She supposed every captain had their quirks, but you never could tell. Perhaps this was something that ran deeper.  
  
Not that it had much effect on her. She was setting sail again tomorrow, fleeing this place with its unwashed masses, people that were nothing more than tumors on the posteriors of society. She had but a few errands to run. The bits of shell and calcified rock crunched under her feet as she made her way back to main street.  
  
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Will peeled his boiled egg with infinite care, dropping the shell on the table and carefully inspecting the shining white surface for hideaway shards. He was famished from the day's work, and Mr. York had been quite obliging as always. The world didn't seem so cruel when one was facing it over two boiled eggs, toasted bread, a small wheel of cheese, and a pint of ale next to a roaring fire. Will stretched his feet out comfortably and bit into his egg. Bliss ensued.  
  
"Well, Captain...is there room for two by the fire again tonight?" The voice came from somewhere to his left. Will did a passable imitation of a seagull as he tilted his head back to swallow quickly, then turned. It was John Bloodworth's sister, looking considerably drier than he had seen her last night. Her hair was neatly upswept and pinned back, and her attire was simple and clean. She carried in one hand a half-pint of something that was steaming, in the other hand a bowl filled with cooked fish laid on top of roasted potatoes. Will smiled and rose.  
  
"Always, Miss Bloodworth. Will John be joining us tonight?"  
  
"Hardly. He's retired for the night. It seems that he must rise before dawn tomorrow. Any idea why he might need to do that?"  
  
"As heaven is my witness, I have not the slightest inkling." Will pulled out a chair for the girl. She placed her vessels down on the tabletop and allowed herself to be seated.  
  
"Thank you, sir. And thank you, too, for taking my brother into your service." Will sat back down and began with his boiled egg anew.  
  
"If he works as hard as you say he does, I shall be the one thanking you." He had intended to ask her a question, but this egg business was overtaking all his senses, and he lost concentration. The peeling of his next morsel required immense silence on his part. By the time he was finished and had devoured the egg, the girl was staring at him. A crooked smile of amusement lit her face.  
  
"Forgive me, sir...I was afraid for a moment that you were choking," She said. Will covered his mouth with his hand and swallowed.  
  
"Such concern from a woman who, only last night, looked ready to have a swim in her grog. Have you never peeled a boiled egg before?" She shrugged.  
  
"Never been overly fond of eggs, sir."  
  
"Aha, that's because you've never had a real, fresh egg. By that I mean, the hen laid the egg directly into the boiling water." Will gesticulated firmly with a half-slice of bread before laying slices of cheese on it. The girl leaned back in her chair and began sipping from her mug with the same abandon of the night before. Her eyes drifted closed, and for a moment Will actually wondered whether she had gone to sleep. Then she swallowed and blew out a long breath. One eye opened, and she regarded him unfavorably.  
  
"Lovely. Couldn't enjoy my tea for the image of a chicken squatting over a boiling cauldron."  
  
"So sorry about that." He grinned, unrepentant. She shook her head and buried her face in her mug again.  
  
Will chewed his bread and cheese thoughtfully, scrutinizing Miss Bloodworth. Her demeanor tonight was in sharp contrast when compared with the night before. Indeed, the lady that he had spoken with previously looked more like a drowned rat than a girl, and improved considerably upon evaporation. Her eyes were a deep, soft brown that reminded him of the loose earth under an old tree. She was well-built with a bright smile, leading him to wonder why she was evidently still single.   
  
Ah yes, now he remembered what he was going to ask her. An all-purpose question that he was rather proud of.  
  
"I am curious, how do you occupy yourself while your brother is away at sea?" She seemed startled by the question, and actually put her tea down and looked at him wide-eyed. Will felt a pang of embarrassment. Somehow, he had said something to offend her. "I'm sorry, I didn't intend to pry," he said quickly. She gulped the tea in her mouth, then shook her head.  
  
"No...that's all right. Nobody has every asked me that question before, is all. I am...I am a thespian." Aha. No wonder she had looked so threatened. Female actors were not regarded favorably in England.  
  
Actually, any type of actor was not regarded favorably in England. Must be the tights. 


	3. Freedom of the Sea

*Disclaimer* Nothing's mine, except that which my little head thought up.  
  
A/N Thank you all for your kind reviews! Hopefully, I won't disappoint you!  
  
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Julie trundled down the darkened streets on the outskirts of Portsmouth, heading toward the docks that were already ringing with men's voices and the calls of sea birds. The smell of the seaside air was growing stronger--a mixture of moss, wet wood, tar, and smoke, the smell of excitement. The scent of freedom. Julie increased her speed, straining toward the source of her liberty.   
  
She felt the old persona slipping over her, like a comfortable set of clothes. Her walk became more flatfooted and heavy, she pulled her shoulders back (though it pained her bound breasts), and she stood as tall as she could. The loose clothes that she wore in several layers hid what few curves she had, and the boots helped her to clunk like a man.   
  
Granted, later on the sun would begin to roast her alive, forcing her to at least remove her beloved oilskin coat and let the hem of her overshirt loose, but for now it was vitally important to make a masculine first impression.  
  
The "Portal" swayed gently in her appointed berth. Sailors dashed to and fro on her decks, readying her to sail. Julie paused for a moment, looking about on the dock for an officer. The deserted wood planks offered no help. Shrugging to herself, she turned and clomped up the gangplank.  
  
Upon closer viewing, the decks were actually rather sparsely manned, and the appearance of more hands was given by the fact that each man was scrambling like a rabid loon to accomplish his work. The only man that didn't seem frantic was a black-coated old sailor that strolled about his tasks as though everything were going exactly according to plan. His oily, curly hair was black to match his coat, and it looked as though he had about a week's worth of beard growth in one spot on his chin. The rest of his face was smooth shaven.  
  
Julie readjusted her pack and tromped over to him.  
  
"Excuse me, sir. I..."  
  
"Eh, wot? Yer name, lad! Give me yer name!" The old man looked up from his compass to glare at him past large, bushy eyebrows. His voice sounded like two pieces of sandpaper rubbing together. Julie pretended to shrink under his gaze.  
  
"John, sir. John Bloodworth. Captain Turner just hired me."  
  
"Well, now!" The man's gaze softened, and he actually smiled. "Why didnae' you say sech before? Welcome aboard, laddie! I'm Nicholas, the navigator 'round 'ere. Th' boys call me Nero. May as well stowe yer load an' get tae work." Julie stopped herself from turning on her heel and going belowdecks. She was supposed to be a young boy who was learning what he was to do, she reminded herself firmly.  
  
"Stowe my load?" Nero tilted his head back slightly and looked at the sky.  
  
"Down in the hammock room, boy! Move!" She jumped and scrambled toward the nearest hatch with all the grace of a plucked goose.   
  
The sub-decks on the ship were dark, cool, and noisy. She could hear an officer crying "Out or down!" to her left, a sure indication of where the hammock room was. The words "Out or down" referred to an officer's threat to cut down the hammock of the last sailor still asleep. It was either come out of the hammock on your own or be dropped onto the unforgiving boards of the deck below. Most sailors didn't need the experience as motivation to scramble out of their canvas beds.  
  
Julie quickly bundled her few possessions in the crowded bunkhouse and made her way back up top. The sun had inched itself a little ways up the horizon, just enough to spill a golden glow over everything. A rather auspicious way to start her new employment, it seemed.  
  
"Make sail!" A crusty voice bellowed from the poop deck, the highest deck on the ship. Julie looked up toward the voice to see Captain Turner crouched over Nero, who stood at the helm. It was clear who had given the order.  
  
If it were possible, the crew began scrambling even more frantically. Sails were dropped, hatches were loosed for the day, and she could hear the anchor groan as they began to push the enormous turnstile that hoisted it up from the seabed. Some passerby grabbed her and pushed her into the turning wheel. She seemed to take the hint, gripped the spoke, and began to push.  
  
Again, the gravelly voice of Nero was heard, this time in a rich, jaunty melody.  
  
"Jump! Lads, and find your socks, attend your mast and line  
  
Whoa! Hold to what you can, or sure you'll take a dive!"  
  
It was a sea chantey, and Nero was the chanteyman. The song was meant to set a rhythm to their hauling. At every exclamation, they pushed in unison and got the anchor a few more feet off the seabed. Now came the chorus, and every seaman on deck joined in. Julie remained silent, as though trying to learn the words.  
  
"Heave, lads, the sea will find you!  
  
Heave, lads, the sea will find you!  
  
Heave, lads, the sea will find you!  
  
Leavin' from the docks again!"  
  
As Nero continued to make up words, Julie noticed for the first time a man in robes with a cross standing on the poop deck. He was reading from a prayer book and genuflecting, apparently in prayer for the ship's safety. Nero's voice still bellowed lustily.  
  
"Hi! Here's our Holy Joe, 'es pleadin' for our sin  
  
Hell! With the cusses here, 'ed better pray again!"  
  
"Heave, lads, the sea will find you!  
  
Heave, lads, the sea will find you!  
  
Heave, lads, the sea will find you!  
  
Leavin' from the docks again!"  
  
This time Julie allowed herself to sing with all the other men. The rhythm set was very helpful, and she found herself waiting eagerly for the next verse as Nero kept the beat with a rattan whip.  
  
"Hail! To our Captain Will, an' though our rations sparse  
  
Whoop! If the mast should break, there's one shoved up his arse!"  
  
A roar of laughter went up from the general populous. Even Captain Turner's smile showed teeth as he chuckled, poking Nero in the side. The chorus of "Heave, lads!" was more sparse this time for sheepish giggles. The navigator was apparently deeply involved in his task of steering out of port, because it took him a moment to realize that another verse was needed.  
  
"Huh? Oh! Roit..."  
  
"Fie! On the working day, the sun's up much too long  
  
Hey! For the moonrise beer, an' the man wot wrote this song!"  
  
A quick cheer rose from the sailors. Apparently, "the man wot wrote this song" was rather popular. The last chorus was sung, and the men cheered again as the anchor was rolled into place and secured. Julie put her hands on her hips and nodded firmly, using her shoulder to wipe away a dew of sweat that had sprung up on her forehead. She was sure the dirt on her coat left a dark smear. So much the better.   
  
The more dirt she had smeared about, the more she looked like a sailor--or rather, a man.  
  
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Julie wound the stringline of her hammock around the hook and tugged it firmly to secure it. Her first day had passed uneventfully, though she thought maybe she had overdone the bumbling kid routine a little. Then again, parts of it were not an act. This ship was run strangely. The navigator seemed to double for a first mate, there was practically a skeleton crew manning it, and they all seemed to be painfully impatient with new people.   
  
Not that everyone wasn't friendly enough. They had a tendency to become cranky when things got a little frantic, however. It wasn't anything unusual. Julie simply opted out of the evening beer festival being held in the hold and crawled into her hammock for some well-deserved rest. The sea rocked her in its gentle arms, and the drunken laughter from the deck below lulled her to sleep.  
  
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A/N And that's it! Another short chapter. *pout* Ah well, they should be getting longer eventually. 


	4. Ready for the Storm

*Disclaimer* You know, I really am not desperate enough to steal copyrighted materiel. I don't own Will except in my little imaginary world where penguins run freely and offer their lemonade bounty to all who ask.   
  
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Will stretched, yawned, and turned his face into the warm sun. The better part of the morning was behind them, and the work was underway. The repairs had been finished within a week, and so as of yesterday the crew had begun working ahead. Nero had been pacing the deck all morning, muttering under his breath that a storm was coming. Since Nero was usually right, he had ordered the decks to be caulked and the heavy cargo to be shifted as low as possible. Every hand on the ship was busy, and that was the way they liked to keep it. He had found that keeping a smaller crew that liked to sail was infinitely more efficient than a large crew with a risk of lazy malingerers and rebels. His crew was kept busy, paid well, and given as much loyalty as they gave him. So far, the system had worked.  
  
"Nero!" Will called to his navigator. A large, rough hand waved from the vicinity of the wheel. Will clambered down from his lookout point and ambled over to stand with him.  
  
"G'Marnin', Cap'n. Wot-ho, an' all that sort."  
  
"What do your bones tell us today?"  
  
"Agh. Big storm comin', sir. Should be seein' the clouds wi'in the hour."  
  
"All right, then. We're preparing as we speak."  
  
"Roit." A massive, black-haired hand lifted and pressed a rum flask to his lips. Will held out his hand, and the helpful man handed off the flask. Will took a quick drink, then wiped his upper lip with his sleeve.  
  
"Nero, you've been keeping an eye on things. What do you think of John?"  
  
"New sailor you hired on, sir?"  
  
"Yes. John Bloodworth. Seen him?"  
  
"Saw 'im, all roit. Looks mighty scrawny to me, Johnny boy. Leadfooted, too. An' 'e didn't come drink with the lads."  
  
"Give him time to get used to this ship. I'd be willing to wager he'll be quick and friendly enough. Once he gets over the willies I'm sure you gave him, that is." His sister had seemed sharp-witted enough. Even if you had sailed before, an intimidating new situation was enough to turn anyone's brain to pudding. Not to mention the fact that Nero never, but never let a new crewmember aboard without giving him some form of hazing. "Good for the soul," he always said, though Will was not sure whose soul he referred to, the new seaman's or his.  
  
The wind suddenly shifted, bringing with it a cool breeze. The sporadic clouds had begun to thicken and darken. The men's singing sounded defiant now. They were ready to weather this storm. Will smiled, pleased with their efforts. Last night's beer event had lasted for hours, but somehow every man on the daywatch was on deck this morning, and sharper than when they came back from shore leave.   
  
Well, almost every man. A sailor by the name of Red Jim had been found curled up asleep in the cargo hold and had to be awoken with a rattan whip. Red Jim was a great ox of a man, but he couldn't hold his drink.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Julie rubbed her palms against her rough breeches and took a fresh grip on her stick. She was pounding great mounds of loose rope into small cracks between decks. When she could not fit any more rope fibers into the crack, she dipped a brush in a bucket of steaming pitch and sealed it to prevent water from leaking down and settling into the wood or the bottom of the ship, where it would cause dangerous rotting.  
  
Sweat dripped into the rag bound around her forehead as she jammed the pointed stick into the crack over and over. Apparently, Nero had predicted an incoming storm, and what Nero said went.  
  
Julie sniffed. The air had cooled down, and it was dead. There was no wind moving, creating the ominous atmosphere that signalled hard rain. On an instinct, she left her pitch and rope to clamber up top. A black front of clouds blocked the sky like a deadly blanket. The crew sang defiantly as the sails were furled and the hatches were battened down.   
  
At last, the wind came, a brutal gale that slammed into the side of the ship like some gigantic fist. Captain Turner began shouting orders, which Nero relayed. The rest of the ship took up the call. There were still two main sails that hadn't been furled, and sailors scrambled onto the rigging to secure the canvas before the ropes became slick with rain.  
  
Too late, though. Without warning, the rain began pouring down in sheets. Lightning crashed all around them, blinding Julie. She tried not to lose her footing as the water began to well around her boots.  
  
A thud suddenly rattled the deck, and a scream split the air. One of the sailors had slipped from the rope webbing and taken a fall to the boards below. He lay still, either unconscious or dead.  
  
"Well, bugger this." Julie muttered under her breath. As a man emerged from belowdecks and dragged the casualty to sick bay, she hunched over and pulled off her boots. Her bare feet gripped the wood, and she used the added traction to make her way up a nearby rope ladder.   
  
The rigging bucked wildly, and she held on to it with a death grip...death being the operative word. Deliberate bumbling aside, she'd be damned if she would go under one day out of port. Not while she could help it. The foresail was still unfurled, and one poor man was trying desperately to control it.  
  
"Ho, there!" Julie shouted to make herself known. The man made brief eye contact, but he was frightfully busy trying not to join his compatriot in sickbay. Julie began hauling on the rope gathering that loosened the knot below and pulled the sail to. A nod from the other man signalled that he was ready to pull.  
  
"Heave!" Julie screamed above the wind, the rain, and the groaning of the ship as it struggled to stay above water. They pulled in unison, and the sail came up. The ship gave a mighty lurch. Julie dropped back against the mast behind her and held on to it, slithering down the wet wood until she was sitting on the crossbeam. She twisted her legs around the mast and anchored it with her feet until the ship righted itself. Captain Turner still shouted orders directly below her, and the rudderman called back reply.  
  
"Ready?" Julie called. Her partner nodded. "Heave!" The sail made its way steadily upward until they could tie off the ropes and cinch it in place. As soon as the sail was fastened, Julie heard a loud cry from below.  
  
"Hi-yip, Bloody John! Secure the foremast." Nero stood below, holding on to the wheel with one hand and the rail with the other. Julie slithered down between the crossbeam and the sail and scrambled onto the rigging again. The foremast was making a pained groaning sound as the wind buffeted it about. The lee side of the mast was tied, which didn't do it much good. At least the windward side would have to be pulled to if it were going to be stable against the storm.   
  
Julie slid her way down a length of rope meant to give the sailors quick access to the deck. The other sailor came swiftly after her. With nimble hands, Julie unwound the rope from the metal yoke on the mast, then stepped back and allowed the heavier man behind her to put his weight on the rope.   
  
Bracing both feet against the mast, he pulled with all his might to put tension on the ties. Julie hooked the length of rope over the yoke and used it as a pulley to increase the force of her pull. The dangerous groaning of the mast died down, and Julie secured the rope to the yoke.  
  
"Roit!" Nero cried. "Good work, lads. Green, go spell the rudderman. Bloody John---" Nero's order was cut off as a crashing wave washed over the the railing of the ship, drenching all three of them in freezing sea water. Julie's feet slithered out from under her. She knew better than to fight for her footing, and dropped down, flipping over to her stomach in the water and sinking her fingernails into the caulking between the planks. The water sucked at her as it washed back into sea, but she managed to stay anchored where she was.   
  
Once the water receded back into its place, she felt a rough hand on her shoulder pulling her to her feet. It was Nero, still with one hand on the wheel. He wasn't even looking at her as he kept the ship into the wind. The narrowest strip of light was beginning to show on the horizon, signalling an eventual break in the storm.  
  
"Start checkin' the ropes, lad. We'll 'ave a rough time if one o' them knots comes loose." Even the tightest fastenings sometimes were coaxed loose by the wind. Julie turned quickly and hurried through the bindings systematically, tightening knots here and there.  
  
Almost as quickly as the storm began, it was over. The black shield over the sky slowly drifted away, leaving only the occasional drop of rainwater pattering onto the planks below their feet.  
  
One by one, cabin boys and sailors emerged from the decks below and resumed their normal duties. Julie finished checking the ties and reported back to Nero. By this time her skin was pale and cold from being washed in sea water and her eyes were scratchy from the brine. The grizzled old seaman regarded her from the corner of his eye. In a very matter-of-fact way, he handed her his rum flask.  
  
"Drink that, lad. Ye look like a drowned cat." There was no way she was going to question a swig from this man's private store. She threw her head back and let the liquor go down her throat. Apparently, he had taken it on himself to concentrate the stuff, because the burn that lit her blood on fire was hefty indeed. Julie was able to drain only half of the remaining rum in the flask before she threw her head forward and gave a mighty cough.  
  
"There now." Nero grunted. The sound of the activity behind them was growing louder. After a pause, the old man spoke again, quietly. "Not bad, Bloody John. Go belowdecks and change."  
  
"If it's all the same to you, sir...I'd rather stay above. The sun will come out soon, and I..I'd like to keep on helping." In truth, the only time she dared disrobe was when the day watch was asleep and she was safely hidden in the scullery or a deserted portion of the sick bay. She tried to look fresh and eager. Nero blinked at her owlishly, then nodded.  
  
"Roit. Go tell the Cap'n to come aft and tell ol' Nero wot's wot." Julie muttered a "Yes sir," under her breath and pattered away, wondering where her boots were.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Nero tilted the wheel a degree starboard and scraped his heel thoughtfully against the floor. That had been one gullywasher of a storm, all right. They would more than likely have to do some sail repair and some additional carpentry. And on top of it all, one of the men had taken a fall from the rigging. It would be a miracle if he lived.  
  
Luckily, Bloody John had jumped in and helped. Nero couldn't help but be bothered by the ease with which the boy, a supposed inexperienced sailor, had swung and scrambled and tied as well as he had when he was a young man. He had started out serving as a powder monkey when he was eight, and never in his life had he seen someone catch on that fast.  
  
Nero peered up at the quickly receding clouds, feeling the storm move further and further away. He could hear Cap'n Turner giving orders to unfurl the main sail. The aftereffects of this storm would give them a good wind. The quick, firm sound of Turner's footsteps approached behind Nero.  
  
"Harry has a broken leg and a nasty bump on his head, but that's all."  
  
"Saints be praised. Thank ye, Jesus," Nero said sincerely. Harry had a wife and four boys back in England.  
  
"We've got a few tears in the sails, but the ship is largely without leaks. The rudder handle is cracked. I have Joseph making a new one now."  
  
"There somethin' amiss wi' that boy." Nero dropped his voice a notch to avoid being overheard. Turner stopped in his litany of cumulative damage logs.  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"That Bloodworth boy. 'E ain't tellin' truth wi' us. Did you see the way 'e scrambled about an' fixed the sails?"  
  
"Well, yes, but I didn't really..."  
  
"'E knew enough not to get washed overboard, too. Didja see that?"  
  
"Well...no." Turner was frowning at him now. Nero didn't even need to turn and see his face to know that. It was clear there was a bell going off in his head as well.   
  
"'E did things like 'es been doin' it for years, things wot no new sailor would know. 'E's been standin' 'ere like a dumb moose for a bloody week. Only went up the riggin' when 'arry dropped." The old navigator lowered his voice another notch. "D'ye think 'e might be a pirate in disguise, sir? Tryin' tae steal our cargo?"  
  
"That's a disturbing thought. I hardly think, however, that a pirate would have his family secure him a ship to rob."  
  
"I'm tellin' ye, sir...it's amiss! It stinks, Cap'n." Nero insisted. Turner placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.  
  
"You're right, old friend. I think I should ask him about this. Hey there!" Will waved down a seaman. "Run fetch John Bloodworth--"  
  
"Who, sir?"  
  
"John Bloodworth. New lad, brown hair, just came aboard this week."  
  
"Oh...roit."  
  
"Tell him to report to my cabin. Immediately."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 


	5. Iris

*Disclaimer* Ich kann nicht glauben, daß Sie wirklich den Verzicht lesen. Ich  
  
nicht Selbst Wille Turner. (Translation: I cannot believe you're actually reading the disclaimer. I don't own Will Turner.)  
  
A/N to anniescribe: Thanks for the review! You're right---in the event of a storm, the sails would be "put away" to prevent the wind from snapping the masts. However, this is where nautical terms get a little confusing. "Furl" means that the sail is bunched up and not catching any wind. "Unfurled" means that the sail is loose. In a storm, loose is bad. So the sailors would climb the rigging, stand on (or, if they were smart, straddle) the crossbeam, and haul on a rope until the sails were drawn up like a set of mini-blinds. As you can imagine, it's not a job you'd want. ;-) Good question!  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
The door to the captain's quarters opened with a slow, drawn out squeak. Will watched as John slunk into the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. Now that the boy was standing in front of him, Will's practiced speech deflated into one simple, slowly-spoken sentance.  
  
"It's time to tell me who you really are, John Bloodworth."  
  
The silence hung thick in the air. John looked in no way shocked, nor did he splutter or protest. He seemed to be thinking. Will watched his body language carefully. He was standing rigid and straight, with hands folded in front of him. Will may have imagined it, but he was almost sure he saw a breif tremor of the boy's fingers. After quite a few moment's thought, the silence was broken.  
  
"My name is not John. My name is Julie...Julia Adrienna Bloodworth." His---her voice suddenly became higher and lighter. She pulled off the rag tied around her head and wiped some of the dirt off her face and neck. Will did his best not to look too shocked as her more feminine features became apparent. In fact, he found he was becoming angry with himself for not seeing it sooner. The "sister" on land had done nothing except tie her hair back, don sailor's clothes, and trundle her merry way on board. All this left him with only one question.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because I am a good sailor and I need the money." Her answer was quick, straightforward, and sensible.  
  
"You have sailed before," Will said.  
  
"Many times. At first I was a cabin boy. Then, once I learned enough, I became a real sailor and earn my wages, same as any other man." Her voice was flat. She knew that she wasn't doing herself any good. Will straightened himself and looked down at the girl.  
  
"Why should I keep you on this ship, Miss Bloodworth?"  
  
"Because you need another sailor." Again, simple and straightforward. "And we are weeks from our next port." Also true. Will sighed, suddenly feeling very weary.  
  
"Very well. You'll continue to serve on this ship, continue your facade as a man. When we arrive back at Portsmouth, you will depart with full wages."   
  
"No, sir." Will looked up, startled. Julia's eyes had suddenly taken on a dangerous glint, like that of a wild animal. Her voice was a dark growl. "I will not depart at Portsmouth."  
  
"You will if I discharge you from my service." Will reasserted.  
  
"I will tie myself to an anchor and throw myself into the sea first."  
  
"Why, Miss Bloodworth?" Aside from just trying to cause him trouble.  
  
"Do you know, Captain Turner, what it is like for a woman with no father, no family, and no husband?" Will's silence spoke volumes. Julia leaned against the wall, clenching her fists determinedly at her sides. "She is more sought out than a prostitute. Once it is learned that she is unattatched, every vile creature at port takes it as an open invitation for..."   
  
"Miss Bloodworth..."   
  
"I must speak plainly, Captain Turner, or you will understand very few of my actions." Will sighed and rubbed his hands over his hair.  
  
"Very well. What have you to say?" She was silent for a moment, her lips pressed together and her brow furrowed in what he could only assume was deep thought. At length, she spoke.  
  
"I do not seek glory, captain. Nor do I seek adventure. When I left home, all I sought was a chance at something other than poverty. By the time I realized that there were worse things than being poor, both my parents had been taken by the plague." He wondered if she were coming to some kind of point, or if this were just a ploy, though to what end it could be he was not entirely sure. She seemed to guess his thoughts.  
  
"I had to think quickly to survive. That was the first time I cut my hair and boarded a ship as a cabin boy. Since then, I have worked almost entirely without discovery. When my shipsmates began to grow suspicious, I drew my pay and disappeared at port. Always by the time I was missed I had donned my petticoats and become Julia Bloodworth again. I live off my wages until my solitary status is discovered. Then I begin seeking a new berth."  
  
"A clever plan." The sarcasm in Will's voice was biting and unrestrained. "But you said you worked almost without discovery."  
  
The silence in the air was thick. The girl's dark, dark eyes held his and refused to let go. Will tried to interpret the expression with no success.  
  
"I was found out once. This spring I was on shore leave, and three men took a fancy to me. As they were quite a bit stronger than I..."  
  
"Miss Bloodworth..." Will felt his stomach turning. She spoke so matter-of-factly, as though all this were part of the natural order of things. He felt something for her that he had not felt for some time--exquisite pain. His numb shroud had been torn away, and a piece of the young, naive Will that he had thought dead writhed in agony for this girl. She continued speaking as though she hadn't heard his interjection.  
  
"I returned to the ship and resumed my duties as normal...but within two weeks I realized that this time was different...this time, I couldn't just hide away..." For the first time, she hesitated. Will would have done almost anything to not hear her next words. "...Because of the child that grew within me." She sighed and looked away from him out the window, eyes fixing on the point where the blue of the sea and the blue of the sky fused. "I tried desperately to forget about it. I worked so hard the rest of the crew wondered if I was ill. The larger my belly grew, the more desperately I tried to leave it behind. Then one day...I did."   
  
She swallowed hard and looked back at him. Her eyes were dull, any pain she felt restrained behind a dam that must have become a survival trait over time.  
  
"I began to bleed. Though I tried to hide it, the pain prevented me from standing. They threw me in the hold of the ship until we reached port, then dumped me off. The only thing that kept me from the chopping block was my knowledge of a few...unsavory activities the captain was involved in."  
  
"And that, Captain, is my story. Now, expose my lie if you will, only pray stand aside so I can throw myself oveboard first." The way she ended her narrative with that theatrical flair told Will she had been planning this moment for quite a while. Will rubbed his forehead. His mind raced for something to say.  
  
"Miss Bloodworth...I'm sorry that you've been pained in this way..."  
  
"I did not ask for your -pity-, Captain Turner." Julie slammed her fist violently into the table she stood beside. Her eyes became burning brands that seared away his lame attempt at consolation. "I ask for aid, do not give me platitudes. Will you keep my identity or will you not?" Will stared at her for a moment, startled. Her jaw was set so firmly that he was tempted to believe her threat to dive into the sea.  
  
"...I will keep your sex in the strictest confidence, Miss Bloodworth." Will rubbed his forehead. Julie heaved a deep sigh, suddenly looking ill.  
  
"Thank you, Captain Turner. I will never forget your kindness." Without making a sound, she slipped the rag back over her forehead, turned, and slipped out of the room.  
  
Will began pouring himself a measure of rum and counting under his breath. At ten seconds exactly after the door clicked shut, a soft knock sounded.  
  
"Come in, Nero." The sound of heavy hobnail boots grew louder as the door opened and Nero stepped in.  
  
"Did ye...did ye find out 'o 'e is?" Will's stomach still quivered, making him sweat and giving him chills. The sickening horror of her story still haunted him.  
  
"Yes. Yes, Nero, I found out."  
  
"Is 'e..."  
  
"No, he's not a pirate."  
  
"Oh." Nero raised an eyebrow as Will gulped at his drink. He knew his trusted friend would not ask further, though he were dying to know. "All right, sir. Air ye well, Cap'n Will?"  
  
"Yes, better than some..."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Julie leaned over the railing of the ship, letting the breeze blowing up from the water cool her burning face and watery eyes. Her heart thudded in her ears, and her breath came fast. Burning hot waves of anger and panic buffeted her.   
  
She was furious with herself. If she had just played dumb a little less and not jumped into the fray of the storm...if she had just stayed belowdecks where she belonged...Maybe they wouldn't have found her out.   
  
Of course, no bad day would be complete without the requirement of telling the story of her life to a man she barely knew. She felt a fresh wave of blood rise to her cheeks. Her past was her own, no one's business but hers, and now she had to spill it out in matter-of-fact style to save her life.  
  
Sorry. He said he was -sorry-. His eyes had been full of pity for her. Julie's fingernails dug into the ship's railing. She did not ask to be thought of as slimy or used or broken, nor had she asked to be pitied. Now that he knew about her past, heaven knew what he would do with that knowledge.  
  
Still, a small voice reminded her, she owed him a debt of gratitude now. It was a debt that she would probably never be able to repay. Though it meant she was at his mercy, and being placed in that situation made Julie want to vomit, she still had to feel the tiniest bit of thankfulness.   
  
He could, by all rights, have done any number of things---thrown her behind lock and key, taken her as his mistress, given her to the authorities...she had been threatened with it all before. Instead, she got away with a little discomfort and a faithful promise to keep her secret.   
  
Or at least, the promise had better be faithful. If it wasn't, she was buggered.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 


	6. Blood of Elite

*Disclaimer* Sadly enough, I don't own Will. That is all.  
  
A/N You know, I got all ready to post this chapter and thought, "Wait...it's too short." My common sense response to this thought? "Bollocks!" And THAT is all.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Julie tilted her head back and drank the last mouthful of her rainwater. The cool breeze blew past her bare feet, making her toes curl just a little. The stars were out tonight in clouds, bejeweling the skies with twinkling silvery points. There was no moon to blot out their light. Nights like this were the reason that Julie had any time to herself. When it was dark like this, she took a little fresh water, found an out-of-the-way spot just below the poop deck, and curled up to watch the night go by.  
  
Unless she was in a bad mood. Then she took rum with her instead of water.  
  
Tonight, however, it wasn't quite as quiet as it usually was. Captain Turner and Nero were apparently having a late-night game of dominos in the captain's quarters. Nero's raucous laughter and Turner's more subdued chuckle made a muffled background hum to her ruminations. It had been going on for two hours, and it seemed that they had finally decided that enough was enough. The door opened, and she heard Nero calling goodnight.  
  
It had been fully three weeks since the Captain made his promise to her, and so far he had kept it carefully. There had been no further inquiries, no suspicious glances from the crew. In fact, sometimes she wondered if the crew was even aware of her at all. It seemed very easy for them to look over her head. So much the better, as far as she was concerned. If they were ignoring her, they weren't analyzing her, which meant that they wouldn't discover her.  
  
Since the day of the storm, Julie's paranoia about discovery had progressed to a fevered pitch. She even resorted to a trick she had not used for quite a while--leaving her small bundle of belongings in one of the lifeboats in case she needed to make a swift escape. If she wasn't working, she was hiding somewhere on deck to escape the constant presence of bare-headed, bare-chested, hairy men, most of whom desperately needed a bath. Even when they were looking away, she couldn't escape the crawling feeling that they were watching her.  
  
"Isn't it rather dark to be sunbathing?" Captain Turner's voice interrupted her thoughts. Speaking of being watched.  
  
"I'm warming up slowly," Julie drawled. He came closer until he was standing beside her little nook, looking over the railing of the ship.  
  
"Can you not sleep?" he inquired quietly, staring at the black, black waves.  
  
"Just doing a little stargazing. You?" She kept her voice equally quiet. It almost seemed like a matter of politeness, whispering so as not to distract from the dance of stars and the soft symphony of the waves.  
  
"I don't sleep," was Captain Turner's cryptic answer. She raised an eyebrow at him, waiting for further explanation. None was forthcoming. Julie scootched her way up the wall until she was in a standing position, then leaned over the railing next to Turner. He was picking at the railing rope, flicking bits of the sisal into the water. His eyes looked totally black in the dim starlight.  
  
"How long have you been sailing?" Julie tensed. He was asking for more information. She didn't like it.  
  
"Why does it matter, sir?" Her tone was perhaps a little more testy than she meant it to be.  
  
"Either because I am curious, or because it is my duty as a captain to know the capabilities of those under my care. Pick a reason at your leisure," Will said with a faintly rogueish smile. Julie chuckled dryly.  
  
"I have been boarding ships for pay since I was sixteen. I have been a sailor since I was seventeen. In all, I have been at sea for five years." This information was met with no response. Those eyes just continued staring out over the sea. Julie turned her attention back to the night sky, picking out the constellations used for centuries as navagatory aids.  
  
"What's your story, sir?" She felt the Captain turn and look at her.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I told you my story. Now it's your turn." Maybe if she knew a little bit about him, it would offset this blasted exposed sensation she always felt around him. Her eyes still examined the stars as she waited for him to reply.  
  
"I don't have a story." His tone was still confused. Julie laughed at him.  
  
"Everyone has a story. There is something in your life that you consider important, isn't there?"  
  
"There was." His tone cut Julie off. It was, rather than an answer, a firm assertion, almost as though he were giving himself an order. Julie's gaze shifted to his face. His eyebrows were knit, and his lips pressed into a thin line.  
  
"There was," He repeated. "But she's gone now." A woman. Julie remained silent. She was treading on dangerous ground now. He rubbed the thumb of his left hand across his arm absently. "She left me a little over a year ago."   
  
There was a long, uncomfortable pause. Julie wasn't enjoying being on the other end of this conversation. Then, suddenly, Will's far-off gaze shifted to a much nearer point, and he frowned darkly.  
  
"What's that?" He leaned forward some. Julie followed his eyes out over the water. A large, black shape, about half a mile away, loomed above the horizon. The only reason they could see it was that it blocked the stars. It had no running lights.  
  
Will sprang from the lower deck onto the head and snatched the spyglass from its holder. After a moment of looking through it, he replaced it and slid down the ladder again.  
  
"A jolly roger. They're pirates. Can you handle a sword or pistol?" Julie's heart made a quick thud-thud.  
  
"Yes sir, both."  
  
"Good. Raise the alarm, then open the armory. I'm going to wake Nero."  
  
Julie slammed the hatch open and slithered belowdecks. The bell and nail stood ready for the leutenant to use it. She snatched it off the wall and hammered on it with all her might.  
  
"Ho there! On your feet! Man your battle stations!" She howled. Clouds of raw curses and sleepy mumblings were quickly replaced by the sounds of feet hitting the floor. Julie dashed into the next room and repeated the process. "Hi-yip! Open the armory! Draw the sails! Sharp-like, men! Pirate ship incoming!"  
  
All over, the timbers rattled as seamen scrambled toward the few gun ports or above deck. One cabin boy took a pry and snapped the lock to the armory. Julie ducked inside, leaving the door wide open so that the lamplight could get in from outside. With a quickness borne of sheer terror, she began tossing out arms one by one. Pistols, knives, sabres, all were thrown out to waiting hands.   
  
For herself, Julie managed to secure a light sabre. Its blade was narrow from extensive use and sharpening, but the edge was bright and honed. Somewhere from within the bunkroom, she could hear their priest praying steadily and the cold sound of grinding metal as he ran a whetstone over his saracen.  
  
As Julie ran back toward the hatch, she could already hear shouts of battle from above. Carefully, she extended her head above the deck to look at the scene that awaited.  
  
The ship was flooded with pirates. The crew was fighting valiently, but the two-to-one odds were grim. Julie launched herself upward and rolled to her feet, sword extended. A man dressed in black oil rags launched himself at her. Julie dodged and slashed just before his pistol went off. With a spray of blood, he fell to the deck.  
  
One down.  
  
Julie turned just in time to see another pirate, this one wearing a hideously orange bandanna, come running at her. She ducked and held out her sword horizontally. The man rolled to the deck and whacked his head against the foot of the hindmast.  
  
Two down.  
  
Julie surveyed the situation again. If anything, there were more filthy theives swarming the ship than before. Some shouted "Abandon ship!" Others screamed "Death first!" Julie slashed another pirate across the back of his neck.  
  
Three down.  
  
Suddenly, Julie's world was rocked by a blow to her head. A hand closed around her throat from behind. In an instant, she wasn't on the "Portal" in a battle any more. She was back in every dark alley she had ever been attacked in, fighting for her life. With a scream, she brought her head back, then threw her body weight forward and heard a whoosh as her attacker's air left his lungs. She thrust her fists into his elbows and broke his grip on her neck, then turned and jammed her knee once, twice, three times into his torso. The man staggered back, doubled around himself.  
  
Four.  
  
"Wot-ho, boys!" A shout startled Julie. She twisted around to see a man in a black canvas greatcoat standing on one of the gunwales. His sword glistened with a red sheen of blood, and his hat was ridiculously large. His beard was almost below his chest, and a gruesome scar obscured one of his eyes. On his neck was a tattoo of a star. Julie supposed he was the leader of the pack. With great ceremony, he raised his gory weapon and laughed. "A tenth of the spoils to any man who brings me the captain's head!"  
  
That was all Julie heard before a burning pain seized her leg in a spasm. She looked down in time to see the first man she dropped drawing his blade across her calf. A swift boot to his head sufficed to knock him away, but another pirate began making his way toward her. In his left hand was a smoking pistol. In his right he held a notched and bloody sword.  
  
"'Ey thar, laddie. Bet yer teeth would make a nice little necklace, wot say?" Julie backed away from him, sword held up in front of her. Three steps saw her pressed against the ship railing. The evil one advanced with a cold grin. Julie dropped her sword, held up her hands...  
  
And launched herself over the railing.  
  
The drop seemed neverending. The shouts and noise of battle faded away as she fell down, down into the blackness. When she finally contacted the waves below, she felt the water about as soft and forgiving as a marble floor. All the air left her as she plunged into the cold sea. For an endless moment she tumbled end over end, felt herself vomit as she lost her sense of direction. Her consciousness began to fade.  
  
Two strong pairs of hands gripped her by the arms and hauled her upward, out of the killing chill of the water. She felt wood under her again, and a rough hand slapped her on the back until she gasped in a breath.  
  
"There now, lad. Breathe. Damned pirates." It was Nero. Even if he hadn't spoken, no one else would hit a drowning man that hard. "Jim, start rowing us away 'fore they spot us an' blow us out'n the bloody water. Breathe, damn you!" Nero decided Julie wasn't breathing deeply enough and gave her another whack for good measure. It did the trick. She coughed and gasped in a deep breath.   
  
Pain shot through her limbs, and her injured leg began to sting with an intensity that made her cry out and fall sideways into the bottom of the boat. Nero regarded her out of the corner of his eye, then returned his attention to speaking with Red Jim, a rather largish sailor who was slow, smart, and strong as an ox.   
  
Julie took a moment to get her bearings. The "Portal" was pulling farther and farther away with each of Jim's powerful oarstrokes. Nero knelt at the prow of the lifeboat, peering out into the water ahead. With slow, careful motions, Julie sat up to get a better look around. She quelled a quick intake of breath at what she saw.  
  
Captain Turner was lying in the bottom of the boat. She saw no blood on him, but his eyes were closed and his limbs were sprawled limply.  
  
"Nero..what happened to Captain Turner?"  
  
"Got hit in the head. Damned pirates." Nero growled again. He turned around and leaned over his unconscious leader. "Wot I'd give fer a jigger o' smellin' salts. Cap'n Will!" Nero slapped Turner smartly on both cheeks at once. When he didn't respond, the slapping continued. Finally, a groan began deep in Turner's chest and increased in volume. As the sharp, pattering blows rained down, the groaning took on words.  
  
"Aaaaall right all right all right! Nero, for two cents I'll remove your head!" Turner's hands shot up and grasped those of his navigator's.   
  
"Good marnin', sunshine. Sit up." Nero roughly assisted his captain into an upright position. Turner stared at his ship that was quickly disappearing into the distance.  
  
"Damn you, Nero...you should have left me with the ship!" Captain's ethics were asserting themselves even now. Nero's face split into a black-toothed grin as though he had been given a compliment.  
  
"Ye're welcome, Cap'n. Come now, they were pirates. They'll keep the crew alive to trade, but you they would'a shot on sight."  
  
"They were offering spoils in exchange for your head, sir." Julie spoke up. Will turned to look at her for the first time.  
  
"Did Nero drag you on here too?"  
  
"Not 'alf, Cap'n. The little bugger came sailin' over the railing, bloody and dead quiet. Way 'e hit the water, Jimmy an' I thought 'e were dead wot sure."  
  
"But you are unhurt?" Julie squirmed in discomfort at the question.  
  
"Largely, sir." As long as she didn't look at her leg, she wasn't sure whether or not it was serious. Captain Turner rubbed the swollen knot on his forehead gingerly.  
  
"Well, Nero, what do you think?"  
  
"Wellsir, in the Portal we were about two days away from port. Now, I'm thinkin' the current can move this little bugger a sight faster than even Red Jim can row. We pull into port, find the British Navy, an' wi' any luck, get the Portal an' 'er crew back before the damn pirates damage either one." Turner nodded thoughtfully at the rough sketch of a plan. She had no doubt they would refine it as the hours rolled on.  
  
"What supplies do we have?" Turner inquired, peeking inside the pockets of his coats.   
  
"Strangest thing, that. Some person loaded this here boat up wi' supplies. Crackers, rum, raisins, all that guff." Julie pretended to suddenly be very interested in one of the oil stains on her pants. "More strange still, there's a fair wad of women's clothes in 'ere. Petticoats, dress, an' a corset. Think one of the lads was smugglin' a prostitute aboard, sir?"  
  
"Maybe..." Captain Turner and Julie exchanged glances. "But maybe not. Anyway, keep them. They might come in handy." She was glad it was dark to hide the redness she felt creeping up her neck and face.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 


	7. The Sight of Land

Yeah, yeah, it's been a long time. I swear, I'm writing, i'm just forgetting to post---a first to me. Thanks for being patient!  
  
**Disclaimer** Not mine, not mine, not mine.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"Land ho!" Nero's throaty cry jerked Julie out of a fitful sleep. Her eyes snapped open, but she was facing west and the setting sun blinded her. The wound on her leg had begun to throb with an intense pain.   
  
The day's heat was beginning to mellow into evening, and she could feel her skin pinking under her tan. She sat straight up, but again found herself unable to see anything because of the three men crowded at the prow.  
  
"Hispaniola, I'll bet me shorts." Nero gestured with his flask. Red Jim flashed a sunburned smile at Julie, and she returned it heartily. They had been taking turns rowing all through the night and all day. Since Red Jim was the biggest, he insisted on taking the longest turn. He tried to hide it, but she could tell that his hands were beginning to shake.  
  
"Here, let me row for a while, Jim. Have some rum." After a moment's hesitation, Jim took the bottle, and she took the oars. Her arms and chest complained at the first pull, but as she gently coaxed the soreness out of the muscles and the blood began to flow again, she began to feel more awake. Nero and the captain talked amongst themselves.  
  
"There be ships docked, if I'm seein' roit. Can't see no British flag yet, though."  
  
"You know, Nero..." Turner began. There was a loud gurgle as Jim drained the last of the rum. Turner waited for the sound to die away, then continued. "Even if there is a navy ship docked nearby, there's no garauntee that they'll be willing or able help us."  
  
"We've got'a try, Cap'n."   
  
"I agree. However, I think it would be wise to try more than one tack." Julie frowned slightly, making sure to keep her oarstrokes strong and even. Jim was leaning forward to listen.  
  
"'Ere now, Cap'n, ye'd better stop yer daftness an' tell me what you mean."   
  
"Well, I have a connection with someone who might be able to render a little more help." He seemed to be thinking hard. Nero was quiet for a moment.  
  
"If'n yer meanin' who I think ye mean...well, isn't there another way? I mean, seems a little desperate tae me..."  
  
"Not at all. He's quite trustworthy, if given the right incentive."   
  
"Well..." Nero still sounded doubtful. Julie wouldn't be surprised if he were still trying to think of protests, although she was mystified as to what. She wondered whether the two men really knew each other that well, or if they just had the same kind of bats in their belfries. It was a fifty-fifty chance.  
  
"Trust me, old timer. If Tortuga is in easy distance, I can probably find him there. If I can't, I'll find someone who knows him and track him down." Tortuga? There was nothing at Tortuga but rum and pirates...which could only mean that the person they were apparently going to enlist the help of would be equally...unsavory.  
  
"Still think I oughta go with ye. Tortuga ain't no place to go alone," Nero said, drumming his fingers restlessly on the port oar ring. Julie found herself watching with morbid fascination to see if he would get one of his fingers caught. She could hear Turner shifting behind her.  
  
"No. If the Brit navy does decide to help us, they'll need someone who can tell them where the ship went amiss."  
  
"But Cap'n..."  
  
"How's this...I'll take John with me. He can watch my back well enough, don't you think?" Julie nearly dropped the oars in the process of twisting around. Captain Turner was reclined in the prow of the boat, staring out over the water at the body of land that was quickly growing closer. Nero stared at him for a moment, then sighed.  
  
"All roit, if ye insist on this bloody errand...may as well send the little scabber wi' ye. Eh, what're ye lookin' at? Row." Julie's eyes widened a bit more. Nero continued to glare at her with one eye. Finally, she gave a token shrug and turned back around to resume her work. Somehow, it seemed better not to ask questions. It was obvious that Nero had just been practically ordered to do something that he didn't want to do. More than likely it was a new experience for him.   
  
Red Jim looked just as lost as she; indeed, he was probably even more so. He was peering into the rum flask with a desperate light in his eyes. The intent was clearly spoken without words; If I'm going to put up with this balmy loon by my lonesome, I'm going to need to be drunk.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
The dusky sunlight cast a strange pink tone on the coast of Hispaniola. The palm fronds that created a thick line of greenery along the beach shuffled as though they were trying to whisper above the sound of ships being loaded, unloaded, and repaired. The little rowboat wandered in and out of this forest of larger vessels before it finally made its way toward a low pavilion. Will received some last-minute instructions from Nero as Julie rowed up to dock.  
  
"Tortuga's off the northeast shore of Hispaniola. We're on the northwest edge now. Follow th' shoreline goin' east an' you should be able to see it. Don' see fell wind bein' a problem, but watch yerself sharp." The boat was steered alongside the dock. Red Jim hauled himself onto the greening planks first, then turned and offered his hand to Nero. The old sailor ignored it and hauled his heavy frame upward. Once he gained his footing, he turned around and knelt so that he was no more than a foot away from Will's face. His eyes were piercing.  
  
"You be careful 'round th' damn pirates, Cap'n. Not many of 'em wot wouldn't take yer 'ead off soon as lookin' at ye." Will clapped his hand on the old man's shoulder.  
  
"I'm listening to you, old friend. Believe me, I know how to deal with Pirates--or if I don't by now, I ought to be shot."   
  
Nero grunted, not seeming to think that was a very good thing to say. Then, he turned to Julie. She seemed aware of the gravity of his gaze, and pulled the oars into the boat so that she could give him her full attention. He nodded with satisfaction.  
  
"Bloody John, you best watch 'is back, or I'll skin yers, that's wot."  
  
"Yes sir," she replied soberly. With slow movements, Nero straightened himself up.  
  
"God help ye, John Bloodworth. Ye're gonna need it, roit sure." Then he turned and, followed closely by Red Jim, trundled off the docks.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
Will pulled himself upright from his reclined position and wordlessly took the work of the oars from Julie. She moved to the back of the boat without protest, wiping away the sweat that dripped down her forehead.   
  
It was obvious that Nero was unsettled. Quite frankly, there was good reason for it. But Will just couldn't find it in himself to feel glum. They were heading for familiar territory, something he had shrunk away from since...well, anyway. It would be good to see, hear, and...well, maybe he wouldn't be quite so glad to smell Captain Jack Sparrow.  
  
But more than that still, he sensed adventure on the rise. It was doubtless that exploitations of some sort, more than likely the criminal variety, would occur. That kind of thing was hard to avoid when collaborating with a Pirate, especially one such as Jack Sparrow. Will only hoped that this time they could both avoid the hangman's noose.  
  
"What are you smiling about?" Julie was looking at him incredulously, a half-grin playing on her lips. Will continued rowing with strong, regular strokes and gave her an innocent look.  
  
"Can a person not smile without accusative inquisitions?"  
  
"No. Tell me what's going on." She had her knees drawn up to her chest in that at-rest pose that seemed so habitual to her, trailing the fingers of one hand in the water. Her tone brooked no argument, but that knaveish half-grin was still there. Will chuckled.  
  
"I was just reminiscing."  
  
"I meant about where we're going, sir. Why Tortuga? I know that it's a Spanish Island. It's mainly known for the drinkable variety of spirits and the criminal variety of sailors. As you mentioned going there to find a person, and as Nero didn't seem to like the idea, I can only assume..."  
  
"We are going there to find and enlist the aid of a pirate. Brilliant deduction, Miss Bloodworth. We are, in fact, going to find the one and only CAPTAIN Jack Sparrow." He put particular emphasis on the Captain. They weren't going to get anywhere with Sparrow unless he got into that habit. Julie raised one eyebrow, her grin fading away.  
  
"Captain Jack Sparrow? How do you know him?"  
  
"You've heard of him, then?"  
  
"Yes. Thought he wasn't real."  
  
"Oh. That's going to make him quite happy. As to how I know him, that's rather a long story." Julie reclined further in a gesture of comfort.  
  
"Correct me if I'm wrong, sir, but it seems that we have a bit of time."  
  
Will gave in to her request and began giving her a matter-of-fact account of the strange and gruesome circumstances that had led to his alliance with the illustrious Jack Sparrow. As he fell into the role of storyteller, he found that he could recall the story much better than he originally thought, and began giving some of the in-depth details and background. At one point, he found himself becoming so involved that he nearly leapt to his feet. Julie laughed at him for that, but her eyes were sparkling. His excitement was apparently contagious.  
  
When he finished his account, she was quiet for a long time. Her eyes were fixed over the waves, looking into the starry night sky. Her expression was dreamy, and her fingers still touched the water absently.  
  
It was then that he realized that perhaps his tale might be a little unbelievable. He himself didn't entirely understand the circumstances that surrounded the mysterious gold medallion and the cursed crew of the Black Pearl. A deadly curse and swashbuckling skeletons might be all well and good for a scary bedtime story. Even so, it occurred to him that perhaps she was at this very moment not so much caught up in his story as trying to decide how to explain to him that he was a lunatic.  
  
"You don't think it really happened, do you?" Julie looked up. Her eyes still held that far-off look.  
  
"No. I would doubt you, but I realize that you are neither creative nor cruel enough to fabricate such an account. Therefore, I must believe you." Her eyes suddenly began to sparkle again in the dim starlight, and her mischevious grin returned. "...Making me either very foolish or very wise."   
  
Will chuckled. "I think I'll believe the latter, considering that you've managed, repetitively it seems, to convince an entire shipful of reasonably intelligent men that you are, in fact, a man." Julie shrugged innocently.  
  
"That takes no wisdom, sir. It only requires enough dirt and sweat."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
After hours of rowing, staying just in sight of Hispaniola's shore, they were finally able to see the dim glow of Tortuga in the distance. Another two hours or so saw them creeping their way toward the scummy shoreline. Will rowed as far as he could, then leapt out to beach the boat. To his surprise, Julie didn't jump out to help, nor did she set foot out of the boat until they were on dry land. She said nothing as she shouldered their bundles of provisions, but Will got the feeling that something wasn't quite right.  
  
"Let me carry some of that," he urged. She shook her head.  
  
"Better if it looks like I'm your cabin boy, carrying your supplies."  
  
The streets of Tortuga were quiet, as Tortuga went...not empty, but quiet. Will's best guess was that it was very late at night, meaning that the bodies passed out all along the buildings were those of the more racous people. Julie agreed with him that it wouldn't do much good to go searching for Jack Sparrow tonight. More than that, they were both exhausted and hungry. Therefore, it seemed logical to seek a place to sleep for the night.  
  
To this end, they found their way into the "Bitten Apple" inn (though the name gave Will pause temporarily). The manager gave them a strange look at the late hour and the purchasing of a single room for the night, but the extra few gold coins Will slipped him dissolved all questions and ensured two meals to be brought up as soon as they could be procured.  
  
The innkeeper led them up a dark, narrow flight of stairs that creaked almost as much as the proprietor's joints. The dim lamplight illuminated an old, slightly dusty hallway. He led them to a door on the end and coaxed it open.  
  
The room was larger than Will expected, with an ample featherbed, a chair, and an old beaureau, all of which seemed to have seen better days. The accomodations were more than sufficient, however, and he thanked the innkeeper as he lit the candles.  
  
"Ye want an extry featherbed fer yer workboy," he muttered in response, and puttered into the closet to produce a nearly flat, truly ancient pad that he flopped in the corner triumphantly. Julie smiled a polite thank-you to the man and saw him out the door. There was a pause as she said something to him in a low voice, then a loud creak as the door shut.  
  
And Julie sank to the floor with her legs extended in front of her.  
  
"Julie! What's wrong?" Will stepped closer, then stopped abruptly as she held up a hand.  
  
"I'm fine. I'm all right," she asserted.  
  
"Then I fail to see why you are on the floor."  
  
"Well..." She began scooting toward the chair a few yards behind her. Will brought it closer to her, then helped her make her way into it. Once she was seated, she continued. "When I said I was largely uninjured before, I meant not including my leg. I believe that it got rather cut up. I managed to get a length of cloth tied around it, but every so often it starts bleeding again, and it needs to be cleaned badly."   
  
With careful motions and an anticipatory grimace, she reached up her loose pant leg to a location about halfway up her calf. Will looked away chastely. After a moment of silence, she hissed in pain. Will looked up in time to see her draw down a length of some unidentifiable cloth, folded into several thicknesses. It was soaked with blood.  
  
At that moment, there came a tap on the door and the voice of the innkeeper hailing them. Will opened the door.  
  
"'Ere's that stuff yer lug monkey asked fer. Not sure what it's fer..." The man held a tray containing a bottle of rum, piles of cloth strips, a bowl of butter, and a bowl of salt. In his other hand he held a steaming bucket of water and two towels. On his face was a very bewildered expression.  
  
"Of course," said Will, as though he knew exactly what the blazes was going on. He took the tray and set it aside on the bureau, then relieved the poor man of the bucket.  
  
"Weren't no trouble." The man grunted. Will smiled and handed him a few more coins. Now it was the innkeeper's turn to grin.  
  
"Yer food'll be done right sharpish, sir. Thankie." He turned to leave, and Will shut the door after him. Then he turned to face Julie, who was scooting her chair closer to the bureau. A small red dot was beginning to form on her pant leg.  
  
"No offense, Captain Turner, but you might want to go outside. There's going to be nothing dignified about this," Julie warned him.   
  
"I've seen worse," Will said steadfastly. "You may need my help. I'll stay here."   
  
The room was quiet for a minute as Julie carefully arranged the rum, hot water, bowl, and clean rags in easy reach. The butter and salt bowls sat on the shelf beside her, ready to be used. With infinite care she rolled up her blood-soaked pant leg. What was underneath the fabric looked like something out of a butcher shop. Blood and serum still oozed out of a strip of skinned and cut flesh the size of her hand. Gingerly, she hiked the filthy fabric up until the folds were pinned securely between her knee and her stomach. Then, off came her soft leather boots and the understocking, both soaked with blood. Her foot rested on the towel.  
  
Still silent as the grave, Julia dipped a cloth in the hot water and squeezed it mostly out. Moving like an automaton, she uncorked the rum with her teeth and took a deep swallow. Will didn't need to ask where she learned to drink so easliy.  
  
Then she did something that perplexed him mightily. She upended the bottle onto the rag and let the rum trickle into the fabric. Once the cloth was soaked, Julie held it above the gruesome wound and squeezed.  
  
The reaction wasn't immediate. Though Will's stomach turned slightly at the river of blood, rum, and water running down her leg and onto the towel, it seemed to take Julia herself a moment to actually register the sensation.  
  
With a wet splatter, the cloth landed on the floor. Will saw her draw her lower lip between her teeth just before her hands sprang up to cover her face. A muffled cry oozed from between her fingers, and her fingernails dug through her hair and into her scalp. Every muscle in her body seemed to be clutched in the throes of a spasm. Will took a step closer. Whatever she was doing, he was sure he didn't like it.   
  
Slowly, ever so slowly, she appeared to regain control. First her shoulders sagged, then her back relaxed. Finally, her hands dropped, revealing ghostly pale skin. Soft locks of her hair had pulled loose from her queue and drooped over her eyes. Will clenched his teeth.  
  
"Julia, let me help you. Tell me what it is you're doing."  
  
"I'm...trying...to clean...the wound." Her breath came fast. A sheen of sweat had gathered on her forehead. Will crouched down in front of her to get a better look at the area. He could clearly see the cuts, as though he were looking at a side of meat. A sword blade had come down just below her knee, taking some of her skin off. Then it had cut twice, sliding lengthwise, then raked the rest of the way down her calf to where the scraped flesh ended about two inches above her ankle. It may have just been his fevered imagination, but the wound did look cleaner. Of course, anything was better than the veritable bilgewater she had jumped into nearly two days ago. The angry, inflamed skin around the wound was enough to make him cringe.  
  
"This had to be painful. Why did you not say anything?"  
  
"Nothing we could have...done...about it." She had him there. Will shook his head and gently touched the reddened, inflamed area around the wound.  
  
"Tell me what to do next."  
  
"Pour more rum over it." She said quietly. Will glanced up at her.  
  
"You've got to be joking me." Julie shook her head. She had drawn her lower lip between her teeth again. Will, likewise, chewed his lower lip and began rolling up his sleeves. "Drink some more," he ordered. She took another deep swallow of the rum. There was going to be enough left in the bottle for him to cleanse the wound two or three more times. He just hoped it wasn't necessary.  
  
When she was done drinking, Will took the bottle from her and poured the amber liquid into the cloth. When it was soaked, he held it above the wound.  
  
"Brace yourself." Then he squeezed, letting the spirits wash into the cuts. He heard another muffled cry and saw her leg twitch. He finished wringing the cloth dry, then looked up at her. She hadn't covered her face this time, but her lips were pressed together and her face was pale. She was sitting straight up, gripping the sides of the chair white-knuckled. Sweat beaded on her upper lip.  
  
"All right...now...now soak another cloth in hot water and...and rinse the rum out." Will did as he was told. Her reaction this time was little more than a quick intake of breath. He was glad. He didn't think either one of them could have stood up to another round of the rum.  
  
"Now mix the salt and the butter together and spread it on the wound." Will knew what this part was for from watching the ship's surgeon dress the wounds of his crew. The salt helped to keep the wound clean, and the butter kept it from getting hard, which would keep her from walking. Will made an ointment from the two ingredients, then looked up to see if she was ready for him to touch it again.  
  
She still gripped the chair seat with one hand, and now her gaze had shifted toward the other side of the room. She was staring in quiet determination at the wall. One tear had managed to slip past her control, and now shone on the tips of her eyelashes. Will frowned gently.  
  
"Can you stand for me to touch it, Julie?" She nodded, sending the tear splashing onto her cheek. She wiped it away with one fingertip, and for the first time Will noticed her nails. They were short and cracked, situated on red, weathered hands and marred with stains from dirt and tar. It never occurred to him that women's hands could suffer from work as men's did. He wasn't sure what he had thought---perhaps that if a woman were pretending to be a man, he would know because her hands always stayed white and smooth.  
  
Will gently cradled her calf in one hand and extended her leg slightly. Julie turned to look at him. He glanced up at her, then proceeded to spread the butter and salt on her wound. She tensed, but made no sound as he gingerly spread the strange-looking stuff, making sure to overlap onto the reddened edges of her skin.  
  
"Now you take the cloth and..."  
  
"I know how to wrap a wound," he said softly. She nodded, and held her peace, though he could still feel her watching him. Will folded up a square or two of cloth, spread more of the ointment on the inner layer, and carefully pressed it to the raw surface. Then, he wound more strips of cloth from just below the curve of her calf to just below her knee and tied the whole dressing in place.   
  
"How did you make it off the ship anyway?" He murmured, and began to clean up the dressing supplies.   
  
"I jumped," she said quietly. Will stopped and looked at her, startled. He had thought Nero was exaggerating when he said she came over the railing and hit the water.  
  
"You jumped? Why?"  
  
"It seemed preferable to the messy death that the pirate with the pistol assured me was eminent."  
  
"But blimey, woman...that's a fall of forty feet, if it's one."  
  
"I know," she said simply, rolling down her pant leg. She didn't seem to want to discuss it further. He shook his head in disbelief and stood.  
  
There came a knock on the door, and this time the innkeeper stood just behind it with two large trays of food.  
  
"'Ere's yer bread'n'water, sir." Bread and water hell, Will thought. The trays were loaded with bread, cheese, potatoes, fish, and even a tomato or two. Apparently his tip had been worth more to the man than he thought. Will relieved him of the trays and thanked him profusely for his trouble.   
  
"Iffen ye need onythin' else, sir, be 'appy tae 'elp ye out." He just bet he would, for another gold coin or two. Will nodded, thanked him again, and closed the door.  
  
Julie was already standing, preparing one tray to eat. It was the one with the bigger portions, and she slid it across the surface of the bureau to him.  
  
"Here you are." Then she stood and watched him, apparently waiting to see if there was something else he wanted. Will raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Aren't you going to eat? You must be hungry."  
  
"Oh, a little. I'll eat in a moment." She was still pale, and it occurred to Will that she must still be in a great deal of pain. She wouldn't even move her leg below the knee, from what he could gather. He moved a step closer.  
  
"Are you sure you're all right?" He reached out and crooked a finger around her elbow.  
  
"Don't touch me!" Julie snapped. She drew back forcefully and stared at him wide-eyed, as though he had suddenly turned into a snake. Will startled and backed away a step.   
  
"I apologize, Miss Bloodworth," he began, then stopped as she held up a hand. Her shoulders sagged as she breathed out forcefully.  
  
"No, I'm sorry. You just startled me. Habit, I suppose." She wouldn't meet his eyes. Will frowned.  
  
"Do not be ashamed of a habit forced on you by circumstance, Miss Bloodworth." Without looking up, she began attending to her tray of food.  
  
"Julie worked fine. It's much shorter." Expelling another long breath appeared to relax her. With sagging shoulders, she finally sat and began to eat. Will nodded with satisfaction, and lowered himself to the floor with his back against the featherbed mattress. He placed his tray neatly on his crossed legs and began to eat. The food was good, but it made him think of the food he had been served at the last inn he stayed at. Julie spoke up past the bread and cheese.  
  
"It's all right, but Mr. York makes better bread." Will nodded and swallowed a mouthful.  
  
"I was just thinking along those lines. Then again, it's hard to beat an inn called The Cavorting Mule." 


	8. Searching

Hola, time again for Sarah's Masterpiece theater. We have for you now a reccomendation for an author who has far surpassed yours truly in the fine art of readable fan fic. This author, Erinya, has written a lovely compilation of---oh, screw it. Erinya's story, "Choices," is awesome. Some of the best fic I've ever read. If you're smart, you'll read it.  
  
*Disclaimer* I do not own Will and/or Jack (Gee, THAT wasn't a spoiler!) I do, however, own Julie and the host of other characters that parade through this fic. The persons and situations in this fic are not based on real persons, places, or events. Oh, who are we kidding? They probably are. But I didn't mean it in a mean way.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"Bugger!"  
  
Will awoke to the sound of a crash, and sat straight up in bed. Or he tried to, anyway. The thick featherbed all but swallowed him, making normal motions impossible. Instead of the upright posture he hoped to acheive, he found his forehead being introduced to his knees, with his arms and legs extended, trying to get some kind of grasp on the bedsheets to no avail. Will gave up the hopeless battle and lay flat again. The thumping and swearing continued somewhere to his left. It was Julie, and she seemed more annoyed than alarmed. Will's trepidation was quickly replaced with curiosity, and he made a second attempt to fling himself off the bed that seemed determined to eat him alive. This one succeeded, and he finally came upright with an air of ruffled dignity.  
  
It seemed that Julie had used one of the gunmetal-gray sheets the innkeeper had provided them with to section off a corner of the room. The raw curses and struggling noises floated from behind this makeshift partition.  
  
"Julie? Are you all right?"  
  
"I'm fine...Ow! Bollocks!"  
  
"What are you doing, Julie?" Will wondered if she had been seized with some kind of fit. The sound of her reply was cut off by a loud thump. When the thump was followed by a whimper, Will decided it was time to intervene. He pushed back the curtain with one hand and peered into the small section of room. What he saw made him wonder whether he was drunk or dreaming.  
  
Julie sat on the floor, nearly obscured in a pile of white cloth. Her face was flushed, and she carried a general air of frustration. Her lower lip was red and cracked, as if she had chewed it raw. Her stained canvas pants and tunic...were draped across the back of a dusty chair in the corner. Will suddenly realized what she was doing and looked away.  
  
"Julie, what exactly are you thinking?" There was a sigh, and he heard shuffling as she stood.  
  
"Captain Turner...this Tortuga place is a man's world. I saw enough last night to gather that. I've been to enough places like this on shore leave to know that while a woman is an object of interest, a boy scarcely exists. Unless he is fetching drinks or carrying gear, no one acknowledges a lug monkey."  
  
"Ah. So you're seeking to be an...object of interest?"  
  
"For the purpose of finding this Captain Sparrow and recovering our lost crew, yes. I'm decent, sir. I just can't seem to get my corset laced." At her exasperated tone, Will lifted his gaze slowly.  
  
She was, indeed, covered from the neck down, although in more polite circles she was far from what was known as "decent." A thin, longsleeved cotton shift hung off her shoulders to about two inches above the ground. A petticoat was buttoned around her waist, but the corset was still undone and its ties hung loose, almost to the floor. As she reached around behind her to try and tighten the stays, the source of her muffled oaths became clear. Her muscles were obviously sore and stiff from the activities of the last few days, as evidenced by her wincing and lip-chewing. Lacing oneself into a corset, it seemed, took quite a lot of flexibility. It didn't take long before Will decided to have pity on her.  
  
"Here...let me help you." He had watched Elizabeth being laced into her corsets more than once, and the process didn't look comfortable. Add to that a forty-foot drop into seawater and two days of rowing, both of which produced sore muscles, and he was surprised that she was able to move.  
  
Julie only hesitated a moment before breathing out a sigh of relief and turning her back to him. She placed her hands on her waist and pushed the borders of the corset together.  
  
"Thank you," she murmured. Between all her underclothes and the hopeless tangle of laces, her back looked like nothing more than an extensive wad of cotton and wool.   
  
Will began to pull the stays tight. She didn't make a sound as the viselike materiel closed around her ribcage. Slowly, the fabric of her shift and petticoats was compressed and the gentle curve of her waist became evident. Will found himself wondering just how much of that was the corset's doing and how much was her own...anatomy.  
  
"I'm afraid you're going to have to pull it tighter than this." Julie broke into his reverie. "The edges of the bodice need to meet." Will's eyes widened.  
  
"If I pull it tigher than this, I'll hurt you."  
  
He heard a chuckle come from Julie---she was actually laughing at him. Her head twisted slightly and she met his eyes.  
  
"I've been wearing corsets since I was ten. Trust me when I say it won't hurt me." Will cringed inwardly. There was still almost an inch-wide gap that he apparently had to close before it would be acceptable to her. With great reluctance, he began to pull the stays again. He heard the air leave her lungs little by little, and couldn't escape the feeling that he was slowly strangling her.   
  
At last, the edges of the fabric came together and Will was able to tie the strings. As he stepped back, he trailed his fingers down the stretch of lacing, amazed at the wire-tautness of the criss-crossed thongs. Julie again ran her fingers gently down the curve of her torso. This time, what she felt seemed to satisfy her, because she picked up the dress that had been draped in the same pile as her old clothes and slipped it over her head. After a moment of careful arranging and lacing, she turned around to look at him.  
  
The finished effect was startling. She had apparently spent some time brushing her hair before he had awoken this morning. It was carefully arranged in a simple bun, but slender tendrils of hair had sprung loose and framed her face and temples. Her dress was a simple dark fawn color, and she wore no jewelry, but the gentle curve that began just below her arms and ran the length of her body was now disturbingly visible.  
  
"Well, I suppose we should start looking. It's already almost three o'clock." Her voice was soft, and had regained that cultured tone that he remembered from the inn at Portsmouth. Her stance was straight, stiff, and bespoke discomfort. She couldn't seem to maintain eye contact with him. Her face had gone from flushed to suddenly pale. She shifted slightly under his scrutiny. "What is it?"  
  
"You're frightened." His statement was simple and left no room for argument.   
  
"It's nothing I haven't done before," she replied. "It's just hard to get used to again." There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. Will knew that what she said was true--a young lad wouldn't get very far on Tortuga. On the other hand, she knew all too well what the consequences of being a woman were. They were left without a choice.   
  
Julie broke into the pause by brushing a hand over her skirts viciously. "Oh, bollocks! Let's just get on with it!"   
  
She brushed past him and began stuffing a few small items into a pouch sewn into the waist of her dress. Will watched her for a moment, then moved to the door and began undoing the locks. He took care not to question why he was suddenly too warm, or why it took him three tries to slide back a simple deadbolt. Eventually, the door gave way and he held it open. Julie made another strangled noise of frustration and hurried out ahead of him.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
The sun was already creeping toward the west by the time they made it into the streets. The denizens of Tortuga were beginning to recover from last night's orgy enough to conduct business. The smell of tar, old hay, and rotting sugarcane from the rum distilleries mixed into a pungent cloud. It was the perfect background perfume for the island.   
  
Here and there, small clusters of oddly-clad men bent over a barrel top, conducting whatever form of hodgepodge business they might have. Hawkers shouted their wares to passerbys that studiously ignored them. A whore or two stood on every street corner. There were drunkards everywhere. It was in this crush of people that they had to find one man.  
  
"So what precisely should I be looking for?" Julie made her way forward beside Will, lifting her skirts free of the mud at their feet. Will scanned the streets ahead of them.  
  
"Angry-looking women, for one. They seem to follow him in a cloud wherever he goes. He has dark, greasy hair kept in dreadlocks with trinkets woven into it, a short beard, and always walks like a drunk whether he is inebriated or not, although he usually is."  
  
"Sounds about right. You said you've seen the "Pearl" before...why not just look for the ship in dock?"  
  
"I intend to. However, you must remember that if someone unsavory is pursuing him, as there always is, he won't exactly be eager to have it known that his ship is here. He may even have gone as far as to have the ship anchored in another inlet."  
  
"That's crazy."  
  
"That, my friend, is Jack. Oh, and if you see him, be sure to address him as 'Captain Jack Sparrow!" Will rattled off the name with a mysterious air and straightened up to assume a noble posture.  
  
"Just like that?"  
  
"Just like that. He's very picky." Julie nodded seriously. Will continued. "Begin by asking anyone that looks unoccupied, from pigtenders all the way up to innkeepers. Quickly, we've already wasted too much time. And Julie?" He called to her as she began to walk away. She stopped and turned, and Will stepped closer to her again. "Do not leave my sight or hearing. If you feel threatened, call for me. You will not be a free whore today." Without waiting for her to reply, he turned and walked toward a small group of men passing the time of day on the side of the street.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
It took hours for Will to begin to realize that people on Tortuga were particularly tight-lipped about those of the pirate persuasion. Those that weren't reticent were drunk. Some of them knew Jack Sparrow, but most of them also claimed to know the pope. Julie had very little luck, though it was as she predicted the men were far more willing to talk to her.  
  
Will soon found that the most reliable sources were the whores that beckoned to him every time he turned around. If he could work his way past their propositions, they were quite ready to talk about their former clients. None of them seemed to know where Jack was, however. The only thing they seemed to know is that he hadn't come to Tortuga for some time. Will couldn't decide whether that meant that he was not likely to return or if he was due for a visit.  
  
The sun was beginning to go down and Will was almost ready to give up hope. A search of the nearby harbor was fruitless as he had feared, and the inhabitants were growing more drunk and the prostitutes more amorous as the streets darkened. He made up his mind to continue visiting merchents until the shops closed, and then retire for the night to decide what to do. With this in mind, he gave a quick glance in Julie's direction and ducked into a dimly-lit stall.  
  
The crusty old woman inside the copper worker's booth lit up as he slipped in. Her wares were gathered around her like her family. Everything from pots and pans to small trinkets to beads gleamed in the dim light.  
  
"Buenos Dias, Senor," she greeted him. Will made a cursory bow. She giggled in delight.  
  
"Buenos Dias, Senora. Usted hablo Inglez?"   
  
"Si...Un poquito...para un dinero!" She spoke a little English, she said...for a price. Then that toothless grin broke out and she giggled again, slapping the counter with a withered old hand. "Oy, I made a funny," she congratulated herself in the broadest cockney. Will chuckled and leaned against the counter.  
  
"How's business today," he inquired politely.  
  
"Eh, ye knaw 'ow it go, luv. It naver rains, then it bloody pours." Her voice reminded him of an old crow's call. Indeed, her twisted, withered hands looked like claws on a bird's foot. "Sometime, it be good, an' sometime bloody limey flock in 'ere an' don't buy a bleedin' thing." He nodded, fingering through her smaller wares.   
  
"Tell me madame, how much for this?" He held up a tiny botswain's whistle, attached to a feather fob. She winked at him.  
  
"Depends, lad. Wot wrappin' ye want it in, eh?"  
  
"Now that you mention it...Would you happen to know a man by the name of Captain Jack Sparrow?"  
  
The woman's hairless eyebrows rose up her forehead.  
  
"Wot ye be wantin' wi' Cap'n Jack, laddie?"  
  
"He's a friend of mine, and I need his help," he told her frankly. She raised a crooked finger at him.  
  
"'Ey now, the kinder thing Cap'n Jack could be 'elpin' ye wi', me ol' bones can't take."  
  
"All I need to know is if he's here on Tortuga. And I need to buy this whistle." Will dug out his small pouch of coins and placed a small silver one on the counter. The woman's eyes gleamed at the peice that was roughly ten times what the little whistle was worth. Her work-worn fingers reached out to take it. Will clapped his hand down on hers and looked into her eyes soulfully. She heaved a crackly sigh.  
  
"Ah'm no' sayin' yea nor nay. Wot I am sayin', is iffn' ye wanted tae find 'im on land, ye'd look at the Tin Lion Inn."  
  
"The Tin Lion Inn. Thank you very much, ma'am." With a beguiling grin, Will snatched up the whistle and turned to leave the stall.  
  
Not bad, he thought. Not only had he managed to find his first piece of information all day, but he knew where to go for more information if need be. Now that the streets were darkening, they could simply stay in one spot and wait for Captain Jack.  
  
A sharp cry snapped Will out of his one-track thought. It was the thin voice of a woman. Startled, Will scanned the streets for Julie. She was nowhere in sight.  
  
"Damn...Julie!" He risked drawing attention to himself by calling her name. He strained to hear a reply over the cacophony of voices, and to see over the heads of the jostling crowd. As the seconds passed, he grew more desperate and began pushing people out of the way. As he broke through the mass of people to the other side of the street, his eyes were drawn to a small alleyway between buildings. As he strained his ears, he could swear he heard Julie's voice mingling with a throaty male growl. Will made a mental check of his boot knife and wished mightily for his sword as he ran toward the darkened passageway.  
  
"Take your hands off me, you odious fly, or you'll not live to regret it!!" It was Julie, all right. Her voice was strident now that the garbled auditory miasma of the crowd was behind him. Will rounded the corner and skidded to a stop.  
  
A thickly built, very sturdy-looking man had managed to corner Julie and now had hold of her. He had her wrists in a firm grasp and blocked every attempt she made to kick, knee, or bite.   
  
"Easy down now, luv. I'll let ye go when I be done wi' ye." Will slipped behind him and crept closer. Julie still fought valiently and let out a screech or yelp any time she found the breath. Will reached down with infinite stealth and slipped the knife out of his boot. Thankfully, the man was no taller than he was, and it was a simple thing to grab the man's hair and press the blade into his neck.  
  
"You'll let go of her now, I assure you," he hissed. There was a pause, during which the attacker remained absolutely still. Then Julie made a harsh sound and the man lurched as she kicked him away. Will used the momentum of her kick to turn the man around and shove him into the corner. The point of the knife was still pressed with dangerous firmness over his pulsating jugular.  
  
"Are you all right, Julie?"  
  
"I'm fine," she growled through clenched teeth.  
  
"'Ey, mate. My apologies. Didn't knaw she were your tart." The man's voice had turned from throaty to hoarse. Will glanced at Julie. Her eyes brimmed with a sickeningly cold light. She stepped closer, and as Will shifted his position slightly, her hand closed around the hilt of the knife. The dimple beneath the blade deepened, and a drop of blood trickled down the man's neck.  
  
"You coward." She growled.  
  
"Miss Bloodworth, what would you like to do?" Will stood by eagerly, ready to assist. Julie stared at the man for a moment, like a snake watching a rat. He strained away from the knife, but the wall behind him effectively ensconced him in an immovable crib.  
  
"Take his belt."   
  
"That's all?" He made no effort to hide his disappointment.  
  
"I would think that living in this squalid body would be punishment enough."  
  
"Yes, but..."  
  
"All right!" She gave a small sigh of mock exasperation. "Take his pants as well."  
  
"You bloody whore..." The man managed to gather his dignity enough to speak. Julie raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Will, what did he just call me?" Will began to unbuckle the man's belt.  
  
"Not entirely certain, Miss Bloodworth, but I think he just called you a bloody whore."  
  
"Oh yes, right. When you get his pants, rip them if you can."  
  
"I think I can manage."  
  
A few swift motions served to remove and shred the man's trousers. Julie curteously walked him to the end of the alley, and shoved him into the crowded mainstreet. Various hoots and whistles sounded.  
  
Julie turned and wiped the blood smear off the boot knife, then handed it to Will. He slipped it back into his right boot, then straightened and examined her face.  
  
"Are you sure you're all right? Turn into the light." That half-smile lit her features again, and she turned toward the west, into the nearly obsolete setting sun. The only mark on her face seemed to be a red mark on the curve of her jaw that she had apparently scraped in the struggle. Will gently touched the angular blemish to make sure it wasn't swelling.  
  
"I'm all right. Really I am," she reasserted. "I wouldn't lie." Oh, the impish remarks he could make. Instead of yielding to Temptation's comely hand, Will simply breathed a sigh of relief and nodded.  
  
"Well, let's go. I think I may have found what we need to know."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Too long, Jack thought. Too bloody long since he had visited the endless rum rivers of the Turtle island. Too long since he had heard the trollops purring and waving, and one of his colleagues around every corner shouting and slapping him on the arm. Some meant it as a friendly greeting. Others meant it as a death threat. Neither one mattered much. He knew they were all glad to see him.  
  
Gretchen had seemed glad enough to see him as well when she pressed her rather ample bosom against him and whispered into his ear that she would be looking for him later tonight. Yes, this was certainly shaping into a pulchritudinous break from the day-to-day. Hopefully, the crew that had decided to come ashore would feel the same way, and they would lose that stir-crazed look in their eyes.  
  
His flask was nearly run dry, and he was ready to set about looking for fresh spirits. To this end he set out to find Great Scott, his newest old friend. On his last visit to Tortuga, they had shared a long string of...slightly enhanced acounts of their experiences over wheel of cheddar and a barrel of ale. It was the barrel of ale that had cemented their friendship, and Jack was looking to renew the bond.  
  
Great Scott owned a ramshackle little repair shop tucked behind a few of the larger rope retailers. Although Jack could not quite figure out what it was that his friend repaired, he could really never see how it mattered.   
  
The shop was dark, devoid of even the soft glow that the lamps in windows cast on the main streets. In the corner, a pitiful little salt lamp seemed only to cast deeper shadows on the piles of assorted, rusting objects.  
  
"Keeping the place open late, Scott?" A stir came from within the shadows.  
  
"Doin' some late readin', chum." Jack stifled laughter. It was hard to tell when the man was being serious.  
  
"I see. Well, what say you take a break and buy your friend a mug of ale? We can talk about the old times we haven't had yet."  
  
"Save yer hogwash, Jack. Got a visit from a lad today, said 'e were a friend of yours." Uh oh. Trouble. Jack tried to be casual.  
  
"How nice. Did 'e say what 'e wanted?"  
  
"Eh. Just said 'e wanted to talk to you. Real smarmy way o' talkin', pretty little English speak." Worse trouble. Could even be the British Navy. Great Scott leaned forward, showing his square face and sad spaniel eyes in the gloomy lamplight. "Sent 'im to ol' Rita, the coppersmith. She say she told 'im the Tin Lion. Ye kin git the jump on 'im if ye need tae." Jack leaned over the low counter, pressing his face in close to his informant's.  
  
"Tell me, Great Scott, what did 'e look like?" Perhaps he could identify the person through sight.  
  
"Oh...younger lad. Na' more than mid-twenty summers. Dark hair, pulled back. Nary an earring or necklace, no tattoos I could see." Now that was unusual. Tattoos were almost a given. Something about this description was ringing a bell. A thought, almost a voice from several years ago played through his head.  
  
~The only way I should ever get a tattoo was if I were drunk and restrained.~  
  
"Did 'e say anythin' else? Anythin' at all?" Scott's face scrunched in thought.  
  
"Just that 'e 'ad some...er..what'd 'e call it...'ad some pull wi' ye, summat like that."  
  
"Leverage?"  
  
"Aye! Aye, that were it." Jack threw back his head and laughed.  
  
"Know now why they call ye Great Scott, friend. Enjoy your book!" Jack patted the man on the head, then sprang upright. If he were lucky, he would get in a little hazing with his rum tonight. 


End file.
